‘I’m Geoff Dickinson,’ the man told Clarke by way of introduction. He was in his forties, well fed and with sleek salt-and-pepper hair. He looked to Clarke like a middle-ranking executive or politician.
‘Serious and Organised Crime,’ Trask explained.
Clarke wished she’d picked up a coffee en route. She had slept almost too deeply and still felt leaden. ‘Busy enough these days?’ she asked Dickinson.
‘One hundred and twelve active criminal gangs currently working in Scotland, comprising around two and a half thousand members — what do you think?’
I think you’ve had a sense-of-humour bypass, she didn’t quite say out loud.
‘Malcolm here,’ Trask explained, sounding not altogether happy about it, ‘has been keeping ACC Lyon up to speed on the case, and she felt inclined to pass word on to Geoff.’
‘That word being...?’
Dickinson’s eyes met Clarke’s again, as full of warmth as one of Deborah Quant’s fridges. ‘Mackenzie,’ he stated.
‘As in QC Lettings?’
‘It transpires,’ Trask said, folding her arms, ‘that Fraser Mackenzie might do more than simply rent out some flats.’
‘He’s a drug dealer,’ Fox added, loath to be left out of the conversation.
Dickinson cocked his head to one side. ‘No hard evidence as yet, but we’re getting there.’
Clarke tapped her chin with the knuckle of her thumb. ‘I suppose Cafferty’s health issues left a vacuum that needed filling. I spoke with him yesterday and he didn’t sound like a fan of QC.’
‘Spoke with him about what?’ Fox asked, shifting in his chair.
‘We had a tip-off,’ Clarke improvised. ‘A photo of Francis Haggard sent to Cafferty.’
‘Sent why?’
Clarke shrugged. ‘It showed Haggard at the murder scene some time before he died.’ She paused. ‘However, Cafferty denied receiving it.’
‘You saw it, though?’ Dickinson asked.
‘No,’ Clarke admitted.
Fox’s eyes were drilling into her. ‘Who tipped you off?’
Clarke, however, was keeping her attention on the visitor. ‘QC Lettings used to be owned by Cafferty. You reckon he sold his dope empire to Mackenzie too?’
‘There’s no evidence of that.’ Dickinson was checking the impeccable crease down his left trouser leg.
‘Is it going to have any bearing on the murder investigation?’ Clarke was looking to Trask for guidance. Trask in turn looked back at Dickinson.
‘You might well turn something up in the course of your enquiries. If that happens, we’d like it brought to our attention. We’ve been gathering information for the past several months and don’t want anything to jeopardise imminent or future proceedings.’
He talks like a textbook, Clarke thought. But at the same time, he had her hooked.
‘We’ve managed to stop several big shipments arriving into the UK,’ Dickinson went on. ‘And Brexit plus COVID have made it harder than ever to ship product anyway. That has led to constriction. We believe another delivery is due from the Continent, but right now, the harder drugs are proving difficult to source.’
‘Hence the upsurge in antisocial behaviour,’ Trask said, nodding to herself. ‘Pharmacies attacked, people lashing out on the Royal Mile and elsewhere...’
‘Of course,’ Dickinson said, clearing his throat, ‘there’s no sign of a general breakdown of law and order.’
‘If anyone asks, you mean?’ Clarke enquired.
‘If anyone asks,’ he confirmed.
She thought for a moment. ‘How does it work, though, Mackenzie’s operation?’
‘Many of his properties are rented to damaged people. I’d say that gives him a ready market. It’s mostly mephedrone, MDMA and speed — the usual “party” drugs. A bit of crystal meth, too.’
‘Plus coke and hash?’ Clarke wanted to know.
‘Plus coke and hash,’ Dickinson agreed.
‘We know Haggard was a user of both — does that make him one of Mackenzie’s customers?’
‘I can’t say, but it’s interesting that a police officer just happened to go to QC Lettings, isn’t it?’
‘And was immediately given one of Mackenzie’s better properties,’ Fox added, gaining a look of approval from Dickinson.
‘Is that so?’ he said.
‘Definitely worth checking if Haggard was paying the market rate.’
‘Let’s not bungee-jump to conclusions,’ Trask broke in. ‘As of now, we don’t know that this will have any bearing at all on our case.’
‘It should also be noted that I’m telling you this in strictest confidence,’ Dickinson added. ‘Fewer people who know we’ve got eyes on Mackenzie the better.’
‘But you’ve nothing so far linking him to any officers at Tynecastle police station?’ Clarke asked. ‘Haggard’s name in particular hasn’t come up?’
Dickinson considered the question for a moment before shaking his head. ‘There is something else, though. One of Mackenzie’s oldest friends is a man called James Pelham.’
‘I’ve met him,’ Clarke stated. ‘He was Francis Haggard’s brother-in-law until the separation.’
‘Well, he’s being investigated for furlough fraud,’ Dickinson said. ‘Says it’s an accounting error, but I dare say HMRC will have a view on that in the fullness of time. None of which has stopped Mackenzie investing in a few of Pelham’s recent projects.’
‘You reckon he’s using Pelham to launder money?’
‘I’d say it’s a racing certainty.’ He brushed at his trousers again.
‘Well, we appreciate you making the trip from Gartcosh,’ Trask said, readying to bring the meeting to a close. ‘And I’m sure Malcolm will keep you apprised of developments.’ She almost managed to make it sound like a rebuke, not that Fox was really listening, being too busy assuring Dickinson with a nod that he would be only too happy to help. Clarke meantime was wondering if it meant anything that her question about Tynecastle and Haggard had led to a silent head-shake from Dickinson rather than a spoken denial.
As they left IV2, Clarke noticed that a couple of chairs had been produced from somewhere in the building. Seated on them, just outside IV1, were Stephanie Pelham and Gina Hendry. She told Trask and Fox that she’d catch them up, then watched as Fox began escorting Dickinson down the stairs, reluctant to let go of him just yet.
‘Cheryl’s giving her statement,’ Hendry explained, nodding towards the interview room door. Stephanie Pelham looked pale and tired.
‘You doing okay?’ Clarke asked her.
‘It’s just such a bloody shock.’
‘And Cheryl?’
Pelham puffed out her cheeks and expelled a blast of air.
‘Cheryl’s doing her best,’ Hendry answered. ‘But it’s going to take time.’
‘You know she had to identify the body?’ Pelham said. ‘I went with her, but I bottled it. Poor love had to do it all by herself. I keep thinking,’ her voice rose shakily, ‘should we maybe have been a bit more... I mean, if we’d let him stay, calmed him down...’
Hendry took one of her hands and gave it a squeeze.
‘None of this is your fault, Stephanie,’ Clarke said quietly. ‘Nor is it Cheryl’s.’
‘Then why drag us here?’
‘It’s just a formality. You can get through it, the pair of you. Gina will keep you right.’
Hendry leaned forward a little, angling her head to get Pelham’s attention. ‘Tell DI Clarke what you told me, Stephanie.’
‘It’s nothing.’
Hendry turned towards Clarke. ‘A few days back, we were chatting over a glass, talking fabrics and interiors, and Stephanie mentioned that she’d done a bit of work for QC Lettings. That’s the company Francis was renting from, isn’t it?’